I Love You Too
by The Purple Pineapple
Summary: Liv is dying. This is a series of goodbye letters she writes to Fitz, so that he would be able to move on with their daughter, once she's gone. Vignettes of their life together, fluffy, but also quite sad.
1. Time

Hi.

So you just found out. I know you hate me a little for not telling you earlier. But, I needed time to process. I needed time. Just a little time.

I am running out of time.

We are running out of time.

It's true, you know, what they say, about thinking back to the beginning when things are coming to an end. When the doctor told me, all I could think about was that time on the bus. Saying your name for the first time. It changed everything. It was everything. And this changes everything.

The doctor said I will be OK for a little while longer, but then I quickly won't be. Anything. Anymore. And it will be awful and sad, and I am terrified. I am so scared. I am scared of what this will do to you, and what it will do to Rosie. Which is why I've decided to write these letters. I need you to remember the good stuff when I'm gone. I need you to tell her about the good stuff. Your way. Softly. Slowly. Because, you two, you will still have time. All the time in the world. To remember just how happy we were. To appreciate how lucky we were, having what we had. I need you to hold on to the good. The great.

So here's the first great.

Remember when Rosie was born? Of course you do... that was a silly question. I wish I wasn't writing this by hand right now. Seemed like a good idea when I started, poetic and all. Handwritten letters. Didn't think about how the mess in my head will look on paper, when it can't be edited. I just thought about how I could stick them in the back of the closet, so that they would smell like me when you opened them. So that you could have the last, little, unexpected piece of me. And now it's a mess. And I'm a mess. And desperately straying off-topic here.

So, when Rosie was born. She gave us a scare, didn't she. I remember how petrified we were, because it wasn't time yet. She was too little, too fragile. She wasn't ready. And we weren't either. And when they delivered her, she didn't cry. And for the longest second everything stopped. And then she made that little noise, she used to make. That hissing noise, like we were disturbing her peace. And she started to cry. And the world went on. Never quite the same. Infinitely better.

You spent the whole next week camped out next to her incubator, talking to her. Telling her stories. Beautiful stories. Our stories. And she got better. You made her heal. And I need you to do it again. Because, I won't be able to.

Remember the first time she smiled. We were in Santa Barbara for the week. And the two of you were out on the porch. You were holding her, showing her the moon, telling her she could be an astronaut when she grew up. She could reach the moon. She was just looking at you, not comprehending a thing you were saying. And then you told her it didn't matter if she became an astronaut, because you'd always love her to the moon and back anyway. And then you started twirling around, with her in your arms, singing Moon River. And I laughed from the doorway. And for the first time, she smiled. And you smiled back at her. Beaming.

Don't let her lose that smile, Fitz. And she won't let you lose yours.

And remember, I love you too.

Livvy


	2. The Moment I Knew

Hi.

I need you to stop being angry. I need you to stop being bitter. Because that's not who you are. And I don't want this to turn you into a different person. I need you to still have that glimmer in your eye, and I need your smile to stay as wide. I need you to stay you. Because this disease can't kill you too.

So this one, this one is just for you. Because you made me smile every day I've loved you. And even the days I hated you.

Think back to the day we decided on Rosie's name. I was taking a bath, and you had gone out to get me Ben&Jerry's brownie ice cream, because that's all I could talk about. My eyes were closed and I hadn't realized you were standing at the door, watching me talk to her. You sat down, next to the tub, handing me the ice cream and the biggest spoon you could find, and you just smiled. Like you were just happy to be there. With us. Seeing the love reflected in your eyes made me think of the first time I realized I loved you.

I never told you this, but it was after you had walked away that night in the rose garden. It wasn't because of all the beautiful things you said. Although they were perfect. It was because you said them despite being furious. You loved me, even while you hated me. You loved me, even when I tried to push you away. And you walked away and let me make the choice again. You loved me enough to let me make the choice. That's when I knew I loved you. And after that, it was no longer a choice. It was inevitable. We were inevitable.

So, I love you for letting me choose you, and I am sorry for every choice I took away from you.

I love you for loving me even at my worst.

I love you, for your smile and the glimmer in your eyes.

So, hold on to them. Because that way, you'll be holding on to me too.

And just in case you missed it, I love you too.

Livvy


	3. A Dream

Hi.

I am writing this the day after the seizures started. I can feel myself slowly slipping away. And it's making me think of all the things I'll miss out on. It's all I can think about. Birthdays, and graduations, and anniversaries. Rosie's first break-up, her prom, her exams, the teenage years. I'll never get to know her.

Every time I close my eyes, I have this image of us. On her wedding day.

It's outdoors. It's warm, but there's a summer breeze. We're both older, but you're as handsome as ever. Smiling. Beaming. Ella calls you to the back, because Rosie needs you. And you freak out, you think something's wrong. But when you get there, she tells you - she's changed her mind, she wants you to walk her down the aisle. She no longer cares that it's a cliche, or about the fact that it's an archaic tradition that she thought undermined her feminist stances. No, she just wants you to be there with her. And you take her hand, and steady her, and guide her. Then you're sitting next to me, and we watch her get married. And you're holding my hand, our fingers intertwined, just like the first time, sending chills down my spine. Leaving me breathless.

Then we're dancing. You're holding me tight. Close. I'm leaning my head on your chest. Your heartbeat matches the rhythm of the song. And I feel so safe. It's a perfect moment.

We've had so many perfect moments.

I need you to make sure she does too. Tell her to marry the person that... shifts her universe. That pulls her in like gravity. The person she can't breathe without, because they can only breathe in sync. Tell her to trust her gut. And tell her she can't fix everything. And she shouldn't try. Sometimes, the beauty is in the broken. Tell her, her wedding cake should be tasty, not just pretty. And make sure she has fun. Dance with her. Have the perfect moment with her. And take just one minute to miss me, one minute, not more.

I have all these other things to say. So many things to say. But I'm too tired right now, so tired. It will have to wait. Another letter.

And always remember, I love you too.


	4. Fear

Hi.

I'm out on the porch in Santa Barbara. We just got here yesterday. You thought it would be a good change of scenery. That it would help keep my spirits up. That's what you said. What you're hoping for though is that it will heal me. Make me all better. Make this all better. And I can't bring myself to tell you that its magic isn't the equivalent of a miracle. And we need a miracle.

You're still asleep. It's early, but I couldn't, I can't sleep. Because every time I close my eyes, I'm afraid I might not wake up. So I'm just sitting here, on the porch, wrapped up in your NAVY sweatshirt, soaking in the morning sun. It's low, and gentle, peeking through the trees. Light dancing over me, as the breeze awakens the leaves. It's beautiful. And peaceful. It takes the fear away. You and Rosie should come here again, next year around this time. It will help. It always does. Like the time I told you about Rosie.

You were out getting some wood for the fire, because I was ill. It was a few days before Thanksgiving, and not cold at all, but I spent the whole weekend wrapped up in bed, only getting up to vomit. I was such a mess. I knew, but I was so terrified that I didn't know how to tell you. It's strange you know, now that I think about it. I always thought that I was scared because I wasn't sure if I had the mother gene, I was scared if I'd love her enough. Now I realize that I was scared of how much I already loved her. It wasn't fear that overwhelmed me, it was love. Just like with you.

I remember you got back in, and I was sitting next to the toilet. Hugging it, as if I was holding on for dear life. And, you looked so worried. And that's when I told you. I couldn't stand to see you that worried, not when I could fix it. So I blabbed it out, right then and there, in complete disarray. And then I vomited some more. You walked over, smiling, beaming. And you just held me. And made it all better. You made all the fear go away, and all that was left was love.

And now you look so worried. And I can't fix it. I can't take the worry away. But you still take my fear away, every day. Every time you hold me, for a while I feel like I'm not disappearing. And every time you breathe me in, I feel like you're breathing life into me. And every time you smile, for a moment I forget the inevitable, and it's just us. Breathing in sync.

I need to get started on breakfast. This took longer than I thought it would. You know, I never thought about it. Memories. Our lives aren't a timeline. They're a galaxy. Our life is flashing before my eyes, memories whizzing around. And trying to piece them together… it's like chasing a dream. Once I see them clearly. Once I can feel them, I no longer know what to do. So I just let them take over for a minute. I let myself have a minute.

So I need you, to take a minute while you're reading this and feel that,

I love you too.

Livvy


	5. Marry Me

**Just a few things - this chapter has a bit more fluff, because, well the next one is quite sad. And to answer one of the questions - Liv has a brain tumour that's inoperable. Thanks for reading, following and reviewing. You guys are an inspiration. **

Hi.

I'm just waiting for you to come back from dropping Gerry off at the airport. It was so great, having him around. I haven't seen Rosie this happy since before she found out. She was exhausted from trying to catch up with all the fun. Trying to catch up with being a five year-old. She didn't even put up a fight when I told her to get ready for bed. I think dancing with Gerry was the highlight of her week… possibly the last couple of months.

Watching the wedding video was a great idea Mr Grant. I just love how jealous she gets every time she watches you dance with Karen, as if somehow we cheated her out of the wedding. Doesn't matter how many times you recreate the father-daughter dance with her, she always wants a do-over. But I think today Gerry officially took that over. When he picked her up and started waltzing around, she looked like she would melt. But then, so did he. He's such a great kid Fitz. I know you worry about what everything he's been through has done to him, what it's taken away, but you always underestimate how much you've given him. How much love. How much respect. How much inspiration. He's grown taller than you, yet he still looks up to you. He still looks at you with the same adoration that Rosie has in her eyes, and that is truly remarkable.

I still remember our wedding so vividly. The smell of lavender mixed with sea breeze. The sweetness of it. The freshness. The intoxication. The soft afternoon light that made everything seem like a dream. The symphony of leaves, moving to the gentle rhythm of the wind. And you. Looking as handsome as ever. Serene. Seeing you like that, that was the moment my dreams came true.

You took my hand, and looked at me, seeing all of me, all in me, and said – Hi. And the world stopped. It was just the two of us, saying the words we wanted to say since the first moment in the hallway. The words we always wanted to hear. Saying the unspoken, the only-ever dreamed of.

And then we're dancing. Sky decorated by stars, or maybe thousands of fireflies. It seemed like the world was spinning, and we were just standing still. Infinity, caught in a moment. Your heart beating to the rhythm of the song. You pulling me closer, holding me tight. And I was afraid to blink, because it seemed too perfect to go on.

I'll go watch Rosie sleep for a while now.

And then when you come back, we will dance again. Until the world is spinning, while we're standing still. And I'll listen to your heart beating, giving rhythm to the song. And you'll be pulling me closer, holding me up. And maybe if I don't blink, we can have forever to go on.

It was a perfect day. And a perfect song.

-_Marry me,_

_ Today and everyday._

So today, and everyday,

I Love You Too.


	6. The Fight

Hi.

You just stormed out. We just had _the_ fight. About the DNR papers.

It's funny you know, it was a perfect week in Santa Barbara. It was perfect until it wasn't. I am so sorry for scaring you so much. I am, so, so sorry. I guess the seizure medications are no longer working. I feel like I am drifting away. We are drifting away. We are no longer us. We are this disease. It has become our life. The doctors, and the meds, and the scans. And waiting. The endless waiting. Waiting. To get results. To feel a little bit better. But, all the while, really, just waiting to die.

You told me I was being selfish. That forcing you to let me go was selfish. And maybe it is. But, I'm selfish because I love you. Because I can't stand the thought of you holding on to a shell of what we were, of who I was. You deserve more than a shell. That's why I signed the papers. I know you can't hear it right now. And you might not be able to for a long time to come, but one day you'll understand. You will understand that, me signing them, wasn't me abandoning you. It was me staying with you. Me, your Livvy. Not a shadow of who I was. I want you to be able to remember us, me, and be happy. I want you to remember my smile. The fearlessness, not the fear. I want you to remember you could make me laugh until I cried, not how I cried because of the pain. I want you to remember how you used to make me weak at the knees, and how your breath could make me tremble, not the tremors and then the infinite stillness. Lifelessness. I want you to remember our life, instead of postponing my death.

When you finally understand don't feel guilty. For any of it. For the anger. Or the yelling. Or for letting me see that you were afraid.

I love every single fight that we've had. Every single fight was a demonstration of love. We loved each other too much not to fight. We cared too much. You know, every single one of them was a show of love, of out inability to let go. Our inability to settle for the ordinary. And extraordinary fights with you were better than an ordinary anything, with anyone else.

I need you to explain this to Rosie, but I need you to believe it too. I know both of you are angry with me. For leaving you. I need you to know that that's OK. Because every single ounce of anger is trying to replace the immeasurable love that you've lost. And with time, the anger will fade away. And you will love each other a little bit more, filling up a part of it. You will love other people, who will fill up another part. And then, all of a sudden you will realize that you have let the rest be filled up by my love. Long after I'm gone, you will finally let me love you again. And I will. So letting go of the anger and the bitterness isn't letting go of me, it's really just letting me back in.

Even when you're angry and even when I'm angry,

I Love you too.


	7. The Last Birthday

**Thanks for the reviews and messages guys, they're truly inspiring. I was going to upload this tomorrow, but felt like I needed to get it out of my head, so here it is.**

**I hope you'll enjoy.**

Hi.

Today was Rosie's birthday. I can't believe she's six. Seems like it was yesterday that she was stumbling around the house, trying to learn how to run before she could even walk. And today, today she was perfect. Today _was_ perfect.

She was so pleased with herself, so proud that she had turned six. Like it's the greatest achievement. Before she was born I didn't like birthdays. I always put up a good face, because you loved any opportunity to do something special. To treat me like I was special. All the while not realizing that with you, I always feel special. I, however, didn't think that just living another year was worth celebrating. Anniversaries, and graduations – those were achievements, milestones. Birthdays on the other hand always felt like vanity parades, celebrating the mere fact that we've lived another year. Even if it was a wasted year. Now I realize there's no such thing as a wasted year. A year to lie with you and look up at the passing clouds would be worth every celebration. A year to watch her turn seven. I won't get to see her turn seven. I won't see her grow up. But I need her to know that her every birthday is worth celebrating, that she is worth celebrating.

So next year, I want you to organize a big sleepover. Have an afternoon party in the garden, but don't let her talk you into decorate-your-own cupcakes. Save that for her tenth, otherwise whatever her favorite dress is next year will be ruined, and you will be hearing about it for years to come. Abby can bake something. Make sure to get Karen to help you pick out the sleepover movie. Some of Rosie's suggestions will be designed to demonstrate how grown up she is, so just get Karen to OK it. And let her come. I know you won't want her to fly, because she'll be busy studying for the bar, but she will want to be there. And you will want her there. You will need her there. Because once the laughter dies down, and the quiet settles in, you will have a minute. And I don't want you to spend it alone.

Don't buy her an exuberant gift. It won't make up for me not being there. Her birthday cards are in this bundle of letters. Make sure you sign them too. For a moment you can pretend we're both still there. Blowing out the candles. For the years past, and those to come.

And one final thing. You can let her have decorate-your-own cupcakes. You can buy her an exuberant gift. And they can watch a PG-13 movie. You will know what is best for her. Next year she will no longer be Rosie she was today, just like today she was nothing like the toddler running around. Next year, she will be a grown up. She will have experienced loss. She will have faced her greatest fears. She will have become fearless. There will be a shadow in her eye, melancholy that only grown-ups know, replacing the fears that childhood bears. I will no longer know her. But you will. You will know what's best for her. And never doubt that. Trust your gut. I do. Forever and always.

I love you too.


	8. The Proposal

**This one has a bit more fluff, because the next couple of chapters won't be as cheerful. Again thanks for the lovely comments fellow Gladiators!**

Hi.

This one is really for Rosie, but I'll need your help for it to have full effect. You know how much she loves the story of how you proposed. She always giggles so loudly that she startles herself, inducing another fit of laughter. Infections laughter. Laughter that bounces off the walls until it's everywhere, so present, so overwhelming, that the only thing to do is give into it. Her laughter. The perfect laughter. The laughter that both of you could use right now.

So, Rosie, my favorite baby girl, here we go _again_.

Mommy got up that Saturday, and when she walked into the living room it was unrecognizable. A complete mess. Books that daddy spent weeks alphabetizing were scattered on the floor, mixed with DVDs and CDs and daddy's old records. And at first she couldn't see daddy, but could hear the rummaging behind the couch. When mommy called him, he turned around, pale as if he had seen a ghost, and startled. Completely startled, like when mommy catches you stealing Oreos before lunch. So mommy gave him the same pointed look you get, and he said he was looking for a pair of jeans that he had set aside for goodwill, because he had changed his mind. And now Rosie, ask daddy to show you what his face looked like when mommy told him that she had donated all of it already. Now, tell him to stop fooling around, and playing it cool, and show you what his face _actually_ looked like.

And then your daddy ran out of the house, in a T-shirt, in a 30-degree, December weather, leaving mommy all alone, on her birthday. And mommy waited for him to come back, the whole day. By the evening mommy was no longer mad, but just worried sick. And then around 11:30, your daddy walks in, completely out of breath, but looking very pleased with himself. And then mommy lost her marbles, and started yelling. Asking what could have possibly been so important that he had to spend the whole day outside, not even having the courtesy to call and check in. What could have possibly been that important! And then do you know what daddy said? He said, he had to go find his jeans. And then mommy asked if he had completely lost his mind.

Mommy said, "You have 20 pairs of jeans! And if none of those were really good enough for you Mr Grant, then you could have joust bought another pair. Or had them tailor-made. Or flown from the Moon. But, no you go around the City looking for a pair of 30 year-old jeans, that I have never seen you wear, and you won't even tell me why. What was so special about them?"

And then daddy took out a little black box from his pocket, and said, "This."

And for a whole minute mommy just looked like your Mr Goldfish, opening and closing her mouth, but nothing came out. And then daddy walked over, over the books and DVDs on the floor and took the most incredible ring out. And do you know why it was the most incredible ring?

Yes, you're right – it was because it was an engagement ring, made from the ballot slip when mommy voted for daddy, which said, "You'll always have my vote." You couldn't see that of course, because the paper was molded so beautifully, folded so perfectly. Letters colliding, melting into each other, with little diamonds breaking up the monochrome.

And now, we disagree about this part of the story, because mommy feels like she replied within a perfectly respectable amount of time, as soon as her ability to speak had returned. But your daddy says that mommy took _forever_, just to see him sweat a bit.

Now, Rosie, get daddy to give u piggy-back ride to your closet. Mommy left the ring there, in a pair of jeans. _The_ pair of jeans. Mommy found them in a goodwill store, near Dr. Fields' office the day she found out she was sick. And as soon as I saw them, I wasn't as scared anymore. So, Rosie, they're a magic pair of jeans. And whenever you're missing mommy, or if you're scared, or just having a bad day, you can fold them under your pillow, and I promise, by the morning they will make it all go away.

Mommy loves you baby girl. To the moon and back. And million, gazillion times that.

And Fitz,

I love you too.


	9. The Breaking Point

Hi.

Thank you for today.

I was trying so hard to be OK with all of this. To rationalize it. Internalize it. Accept it. I wanted to pretend that I understood that life wasn't about fairness; that an illness couldn't be unfair; that on the galactic scales of fairness the Universe wasn't screwing me over. Screwing us over. I tried not to hate the disease. Not to hate myself, my body for not being stronger, doing better, fighting harder. Not to hate you, for making dying so difficult, so agonizing, so regretful. For making life so wonderful. I tried so hard to not be angry. To fight this overwhelming feeling that makes my throat close up and my chest constrict until I can no longer breathe, the feeling of impeding abyss. Because, death, death is finite.

I tried not to be afraid. I thought that that way I was taking your fears away, not realizing all the while that I was just leaving you alone with them. I thought that my smiles masked the shadows of horror in my eyes. But the smiles, the laughs, never reached quite far enough. Never for long enough. Always followed by the fresh realization that they were numbered, and I was running out of numbers, out of smiles, out of laughs.

I tried not to be jealous. Of you, for having time, all this time. To watch Rosie grow up. Not realizing that it was also time to hurt. To try to pick up and put together the shattered pieces, in complete darkness, while everything is spinning and the air is running out. Not realizing that a part of you is dying with me.

But, most of all, I tried not to be sad. Not to be sad for the birthdays, and anniversaries. The school plays and graduations. The Christmases, and vacations. Not to be sad for the little moments. Moments when our eyes meet, and we are no longer alone in the full room. Moments when you hold me, my head on your chest, every heartbeat matching my own, _controlling_ my own. Moments when you sing to Rosie, or tickle her until the laughter makes her forget to breathe. The moments when we watch her sleep, the moments when I watch you sleep.

I tried. But you wouldn't let me. You wouldn't let me shut down. You wouldn't let me die, while I was still alive.

You yelled at me. Dragged me out of bed. Carried me into the kitchen. And then you threw the first plate. Hard. Like the floor was to blame. And then you made me throw the next one. Because the floor could take it. The floor could take the anger, and fear, jealousy and sadness. The floor would, when I no longer could. It shattered. Like our lives. Fast. Into million pieces. Porcelain flying everywhere. The plate broken, like our dreams. And then I threw next one. And next. Until there were no more left. And you caught me before I could fall into the sea of sharp edges. Before I could drown in the fractured psyche. And I won't be there to do the same.

I don't know how long we sat there. How long I cried for. How long you helped me to cry for. How long it took to mourn the lost future, and the moments that won't be. To mourn the loss of tomorrows, despite the beauty of yesterdays. But somehow, slowly, yet suddenly I could breathe again.

Because, _we_ are angry, _we _are afraid, _we_ are jealous and _we _are scared.

_We_ are in this together.

And, I love you too.

Liv


	10. A-Couple-Of-Months

**Again, thank you so much for all the reviews, they really do mean the world to me. I hope you'll like this chapter, it's one of my favs so far.**

Hi.

It's funny how despite all reason, all better judgment, all knowledge to the contrary, somewhere deep inside I still hoped for a miracle. I still believed that maybe, just maybe, the impossible will happen. I hoped against hope, without even realizing that that's what I was doing. Never realizing. Until those four little words were spoken. The words that will be used as a measure of time, as a before and after, as an until and from.

A-couple-of-months.

So simple. So terrifying in their simplicity. There are no hidden meanings. There is no way to spin it.

So final. So terrifying in their finality. There are no more doctors to visit. No more meds to try. No more fights to be had. No more.

It's all a blur. The – "it's grown" and "I advise" and "spend the time you have left with the people you love". A-couple-of-months. All a blur. A whirlwind of sounds, of images. The smell of disinfectant. All of it a blur, but you. Your face when she said it. Then there was a moment before you processed. Moment of prayer. The in-between. And then, then you blinked really fast, as if willing the tears away would make it less true. The way your hand quivered. The way you squeezed mine, to stop them both from shaking. Tightening your grip with her every word, until I could no longer feel my hand, just yours. Feeling your pulse instead of mine.

I don't remember leaving. I just remember walking home. Because somehow, without speaking we decided we would walk. Because in a little while I won't be able to. And that realization, that truth, that… well we needed time to process that. Quiet. I remember the quiet. Amidst all the noise. The cars, and the people, the wind and the carols. Amidst the chaos of life, there loomed the quiet of death. Against the flow of time, there was a final breath. There was nothing to say. Nothing more to be said. Aside from, "I Love You!."

You said it so quietly, almost as a whisper, a prayer.

So simple. So wonderful in its simplicity. There are no hidden meanings. There is no way to spin it.

So final. So wonderful in its finality. There are no more words needed. No more. Except, "I Love You Too."

A-couple-of-months. There's still Christmas. And New Years. And the days in between, and weeks after. Weeks, and days – the units of time dissipating before my eyes.

I guess it isn't that funny. Not really. That I hoped despite all reason, all better judgment, all knowledge to the contrary. That I hoped against hope. It's not funny, it's wonderful. It's everything. The way you believe that if you hold me close enough you might be able to stop me from disappearing. And the way I believe it too. The way we believe time will go slower, because we need more of it. The way we believe that maybe a-couple-of-months might be enough for a lifetime of love.

And for that, for being my miracle, my impossible, my hope,

I Love You Too.


	11. The Last Christmas Pt1

**OK, so this is longer than the other chapters, and it's going to be split into two parts. I tried something different and I genuinely hope it's not too confusing. Basically it's Liv's last Christmas, so they decided to have twelve christmases in twelve days instead. **

**Thanks again for the reviews, I really appreciate every single one of them! And if you like any of the cards more than the others, let me know, because I still haven't finished Pt.2. **

Hi.

Well those were the best twelve Christmases of my life. Twelve days and twelve Christmases. It seemed like a crazy idea. It was a crazy idea. But it created the most magnificent reality. In the spirit of crazy, instead of a letter, this time I'll write cards. Give them to Rosie, each one of the next 12 Christmases. So that she knows that although we didn't have enough time, we had the best time.

**The First Card **

_(20__th__ December, Christmas #1. The three of them are sitting in front of a huge Christmas tree, completely covered in colorful lights, and what looks like handmade ornaments. Fitz is on the right, wearing a Christmas sweater with a 3D snowman on it. Rosie's in the middle, in her pajamas, with a huge, red bow in her curly hair. She's looking at the snowman's nose, amused, her smile stretching from ear-to-ear. To her left, Liv. Her oversized sweater is swallowing her petite frame. She looks tired, but happy. So happy. Her arm is wrapped around Rosie's shoulder, Fitz's hand covering hers.)_

Merry Christmas my favorite baby girl.

You'll get one of these cards every year, until you're eighteen, to remind you of all the fun we had, and just how much mommy loved you. How much she still loves you. Every day. Forever and ever. So we'll play a game. Mommy will write you her favorite memory, for each Christmas, and then each year Daddy and you have to come up with your own. How does that sound?

This one? Well, Mommy's favorite moment of the day was when we told you that we would still have a Christmas tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. The look of shock on your face, of wonder, of excitement. Shock, that we could break the rules. Wonder, that we could make something true by the sheer power of will. Excitement, that we could wish something into being. The look. It didn't leave your face even as you fell asleep, dreaming, hoping that we could make other things happen like that too. And while I was watching you, I dreamed and hoped too, as I watched you sleep, because you know, to me you are the biggest Christmas miracle in the world.

Mommy loves you to the moon and back.

**The Second Card **

_(21__st__ December, Christmas #2. They are outside, in the garden. There are a few inches of snow on the ground and Rosie and Liv are lying down making snow angels. The photo is slightly blurry, because it was taken from the living room and Fitz' hand was trembling a little). _

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl.

And before you say anything, I am well aware that you are no longer a baby, but to me you will _always_ stay my favorite baby girl. So this year's favorite goes to... the snowball fight in the garden. We really beat your old dad in that one, didn't we. Ask him to show you a video that Uncle Huck took that day. It is non-rebuttable proof that we won. (And I used rebuttable, so that you can look it up in that great new dictionary you got from Karen, for your 8th birthday). The image of your dad lying on the ground, while I'm tickling him and you're throwing fistfuls of snow all over is bound to make both of you feel a little bit better, although I'm not there for the second year.

Remember, mommy loves you to the moon and back.

**The Third Card**

_(22__nd__ December, Christmas #3. It's evening. Rosie and Liv are lying on the floor, their heads under the Christmas tree; gazing up, into the fleeting flashes of colorful light.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl.

You're growing up fast!

Do you remember our talk under the Christmas tree that evening? You asked me whether I'd still be around, even after I'm gone. And I said, yes, because you were so little and you wouldn't have understood. I still don't understand. But by now, you must have realized that what I said wasn't entirely true. And knowing you, you're a little bit angry with me. And rightfully so. But let me try and make my case.

I am still there. And I will be there as long as you're alive. And you know how? Because I believe that we live on, until the very last person who remembers us dies. Now, I know that sometimes it may not feel like it, but I want you to take a moment to think about this. When you have a bad day, popcorn makes you feel better. And I bet you love swimming. And when you pick up the phone you say – What? And you can argue both sides of any point. And you don't cry. You haven't since I died. But you're crying now. You're more like me than you'll ever know. And some of it is good, and some of it is not. I'm still around because of you. In you. And if you don't trust me, next time when you answer your phone, look at your Dad, and you'll see him smile. And it'll be the same smile as the one he had when he too this picture.

Remember, mommy loves you to the moon and back.

**The Fourth Card**

_(23__rd__ December, Christmas #4. It's evening. They are walking towards the house. Fitz is carrying Rosie, her head resting on his shoulder, sleeping. His other hand is rapped around Liv's waist. They're talking. Smiling. Walking in sync. There are stains of color across the perfect image, from the reflection of the Christmas lights on the living room window, through which the photo was taken.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl.

Do you remember this evening? _It was_ _marvelous _(Your words, not mine! But, I have a feeling you just wanted to use marvelous in a sentence to prove to Dad that you knew what it meant.) Personally, I thought it was magical. And the most magical part of it was when you started swirling around, attempting to pirouette your way down the steps in the Kennedy Center. And your face when Dad took you backstage to meet the ballerina was priceless. It was like you thought that if she can, maybe we can live in a dream too. And then you said – _I'd trade all the fairies for you mommy_. I'm sorry you couldn't, but you know it doesn't mean that dreams can't come true, just that sometimes they don't and sometimes they do, but only for a little while. Like this evening. It was a dream. This picture, it's a picture of a dream. So keep it, until you're in my place – living your dream.

Also, thank Gerry, for taking it.

Remember, mommy loves you to the moon and back.

**The Fifth Card**

_(24__th__ December, Christmas #5. Everyone's standing in front of the Christmas tree, trying to look serious and Christmas-Card-material, but failing miserably. Rosie is on Gerry's shoulders, playing with the flashing antlers on his head. Liv is between them and Fitz, in a semi-jump trying to reach the same flashing antlers on his head. Karen's standing next to Fitz, laughing, while he's trying to tickle her. That's the beauty of self-timer shots. Sometimes they catch the reality, which is so much more perfect than the narrative.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl.

I can't believe you started middle school this year. But, you are still my _very _favorite baby girl. A couple of things. If you like a boy, let him know. I was never very good at that sort of thing, but your dad on the other hand… Well, let's just say that if you inherited the Grant charm, those boys will be in trouble. And if you ever want to talk to me about anything, it's OK to feel sad for a little bit about it, but then I need you to remember that you can talk to Abby and Karen any time of day. And I do mean, any time, about anything. But most importantly, you can talk to your dad, because you, girlie, you god lucky. You have one of the most amazing dads on this planet. And I know you're reaching an age when it might not seem so, all the time, but trust me – he's got the answers. He never, ever failed to make me feel better. He made me less scared. And he made me better. He made me the best version of myself that I could be. So, give him a chance to wow you now and then.

As for the memory, my favorite from this day… I think we'll agree on this one! The pillow fight that you, Karen, Gerry and Dad were having. I don't there was ever a room more filled with laughter and love.

Remember, mommy loves you to the moon and back.

**The Sixth Card**

(_25__th__ December, Christmas #5. The room looks like inside of a piñata. The only block of color are Rosie, Karen, Gerry and Liv sitting on the living room floor, in identical red onesies. Rosie is sitting in Liv's lap, a little frown on her face, from focusing too hard on unwrapping her next present, without ruining the paper. Liv is looking at her, like she's seeing her for the very first time, with same adoration, love, fear and fascination.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl.

So this is the sixth Christmas that I'm not around for, and I know it sucks. Especially, because you were so little you probably don't remember a lot of it. But I remember for both of us, so this card, this one will help you remember. Or, at least, imagine.

You got up early on Christmas morning, and ran over to our room to snuggle for a little bit. You smelled like lilies and lavender, cinnamon and apples, like summer and winter, like love, like life, like you. And then Karen and Gerry joined in, bringing our whole world into one room.

And then the presents. The sound of ripping paper, and the "OHs", the "AHHHs" and the "THANKYOUs" that filled the air. The sound of excitement, and surprise, appreciation and gratitude. That morning was what happiness sounds like.

The lunch that your dad managed to get me to help him make. It was the taste of harmony. The taste of being perfectly in sync.

And then it was evening. And it was snowing. Except that the snowflakes were in color. The perfect silver crystals reflecting the street decorations. Reflecting the light, the dream. And you were trying to catch them, all of them, because some wasn't enough. It will never be enough. Never let it be enough. And we all watched on, as you chased them around, like little fireflies. That moment, any moment of that day, that is what a family looks like. That is what we looked like. That is what we _were_ like.

And then you thought I had fallen asleep, because that's what I had increasingly been doing, so you kissed me softly on the cheek, to say goodnight. Your little hand holding onto my hair, your miniature nose brushing against mine, and your eyelashes fluttering just above my skin. That one kiss was what a touch of magic feels like. For a moment, I wasn't sick, and I wasn't tired, and I wasn't going anywhere. For a moment I wasn't anything but your mom. And that, being your mom, that was pure magic.

Remember, mommy loves you to the moon and back.


	12. The Last Christmas Pt2

**It took me a while to write this, mostly because law school is overtaking my life, but also, because we're coming to an end, and I keep trying to postpone writing the last couple of chapters. And thank you so much for your reviews, I love reading them. **

**The Seventh Card**

_(26__th__ December, Christmas #7. It's morning. Fitz is wearing jeans and a white tshirt and Rosie's still in her pajama's. He's carrying her. They're dancing. Her head is thrown back in laughter, hanging from his arms. He is gazing at her. Mesmerized.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl! My teenage girl! I can't believe you're a teenager. If I were there I'm sure we'd be having arguments now, and you'd be hating me half of the time. And I would love every single second of it. But I'm sure your dad has everything under control. And because he can't tell you this, I feel like I need to. Growing up is about learning your limits. It's about pushing against, about rising up. Not for anything, or against anything. It's testing your own limits, as well as all the limits you've ever known. And you'll do things that are stupid. And things that are silly. And things you'll regret. And things that will hurt. And that's OK. It's how you learn who you are, and who you want to be. And the great thing about life is that it's never too late to grow into someone else. Someone better. The great thing about life, the secret that adults keep from you is, you never stop growing up.

As for the memory, you and Dad recreating our wedding dance, yet again, needed to be included. You know, you should do that again this year, you probably haven't done it since that day. But now, you can let your feet touch the ground, and you can hold him up while he's holding you. That's another great thing about growing up.

I love you to the moon and back.

Mom

**The Eight Card **

_(27th December, Christmas #8. It's evening. Liv & Fitz are cuddled together on the couch. Her head is on his chest. Her eyes closed. Her lips forming a faint smile, on their own, because that's just instinct, it's what happens when He's around. Her hand resting at the base of his neck, softly touching his curls. Fitz's hands are wrapped around her. Tightly. Anchoring her. His jaw resting on the top of her head. His eyes are closed too. And his lips are forming a faint smile, too. Their legs are intertwined, their feet cut-off, because the six year-old that was taking the photograph, was still learning how to frame her shots. Despite it, it is perfect. Capturing the love. Capturing desperation.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl. My favorite High School Freshman!

You're in high school! It's a whole new world that I'm sure you're navigating just fine. But the thing about high school is, that it's a process, a process of growing up. It gives you more responsibilities, but also more opportunities. Greater challenges and greater rewards. It makes you realize that there are stakes in life and that they are high. It's the end of innocence. And it makes some people better, and greater, while other stay the same.

But when you're having doubts, I want you to look at this photo. At six-years old you captured more than a moment in a photograph, you captured a feeling. Sure our feet are cut off, and it's at a strange angle, but those are the things you can learn. Those are the things you have learned. But how to capture a feeling, how to capture the honesty, the rawness of the moment, that can't be taught and it can't be learned. This photo was taken by an old soul. By a wise soul. By a soul, beyond her years. You have lived through a lost battle, you witnessed a lost war. And it didn't break you, it just changed you. So whatever you're facing, whatever you're fearing, I need you to know that a girl who took this photo, the girl with this soul, she can fight anything. You're not just a survivor, you're a gladiator. And the scars, they're emblems of victories, not signs of defeat.

I love you to the moon and back.

Mom

**The Ninth Card**

_(28th December, Christmas #9. The three of them are standing next to an ice-skating rink. Rosie is standing in the middle, holding her mother's hand. Fitz's and Rosie's cheeks are red, they look out of breath. Liv is gazing at her daughter proudly. Fitz is looking at Liv. A smile on his face, genuine, with only a hint of nostalgia. A hint of – if onlys.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl.

This day was perfect. The kind of perfect that they write great novels about, and magnificent songs. The songs that change lives. It was that kind of a day. A cold day that made our noses red. A sunny day, the sky a faint blue; the blue that makes it seem farther away, higher, somehow more unobtainable. We took you skating for the very first time. And as soon as your skates touched the ice, all the fear was gone, all the anticipation melting into excitement. You just skated. In never-ending circles. And you smiled, like you haven't smiled in a while. Because, for a moment, all there was, was ice. The infinite circles. The chance to re-live, over and over again. And I guess that's what I'm doing with these cards. Trying to make you forget, even if just for a moment.

I love you to the moon and back.

Mom

**The Tenth Card **

_(29th December, Christmas #10. Liv is sleeping on the couch. A faint smile on her lips. Rosie is cuddled next to her, but the little girl is not asleep. Her eyes are red and puffy, she's been crying. She's looking up at her mom's face. Hovering. Worried. The adult. The mother. The only thing that gives away her age, are her little arms, wrapped tightly around her mother's elbow. Holding her. Holding on. Keeping them both safe. Keeping them both sane.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl. I know the choice of the photo is unconventional, so I'll explain. I asked your dad why he took this and he said – _Because when she's ready, she'll need to see how strong she was, how strong she can be._

This was the day the nosebleeds started. I just remember the blood. All the blood. And your dad was holding a towel up to my nose, his other hand trying to steady me, to hold me, but we were both shaking uncontrollably. And I just remember feeling your little hand on mine, gripping it with all this power. Holding me, steadying me. And when it was all done, and I could look down, all I remember seeing were your little hands, blood on them. All the blood. And the only thing you said was, - _It's going to be OK mommy_. And what broke my heart wasn't that we knew it wasn't true, it was that you knew it too. And when your Dad cleaned me up and carried me to the sofa, you got the blanket, and tucked me in. You did the – _Monsters, monsters, go away_ mantra. You fixed me. Even if it was temporary, even if it was for just a moment, you fixed me. And I know you feel like you haven't, like it didn't make any difference in the end, but you're wrong. It made all the difference in the world. You know why – because I knew you could fix your Dad too, and everyone else. But now, now it's time to fix you.

You don't need to hide when you cry. And you don't need to smile when you don't feel like it. And you need to stop listening to people breathe and start listening to them talk, to them laugh. You need to stop waiting to fix people, because you think you can't fix yourself. You can, all it will take is looking at this photo and realizing it. Look again. Again. Do you understand yet? I'm asleep. And I'm smiling. I am there. And I am asleep. And I am smiling. Smiling, despite everything. You fixed me. The best you could. The best anyone could. So it's time to forgive yourself. Time to let go. Let yourself wash the blood off your hands. All the blood. It's time for you to see how strong you were, and how strong you can be. You are ready.

I love you to the moon and back.

Mom

**The Eleventh Card **

_(30th December, Christmas #11. Rosie is wearing a graduation gown, more like floating in a graduation gown. Fitz and Liv are kneeling next to her, one is holding her "diploma" and the other one her hat. All three are beaming.)_

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl. So, although this photo isn't from the 11th Christmas I thought it went well with the current theme in your life, and well, I just felt like Karen's endeavor deserved to be included. Making us attend your graduation, while you recited the _Legally Blonde_ speech as a valedictorian was one of the most adorable things I've ever witnessed. And you're my kid, so I've witnessed some pretty adorable moments. Ask your dad to show you the tape; it's an instant mood fix. Trust me.

Now, off to more serious matters. It may feel like every choice that you make now will define your life, but it won't. Sometimes, despite the all right choices and good intentions, you end up in a place completely different than what you imagined. And sometimes, if you're as lucky as I was, it's infinitely better. Sometimes, despite the best-laid plans, a glance into someone's eyes changes everything. Sometimes all it takes is a minute.

So when you're deciding about college there's one thing I need you to know. There's nothing you can do that will make us love you more. And there's nothing you can do that will make us love you less. If what you're studying is making you happy, if every time you learn something new your heart skips a beat, then that's all that matters. And if it isn't you can always have a do-over. And maybe that new thing, the thing that was meant to be a fix, a remedy, will become a cure. And if it does, you will know in an instant. It will only take a minute.

As for graduation. If you're going to have it outside, make sure you don't wear stilettos. And make sure you wear water-proof mascara (if mascara's your thing). Because I know you think you won't cry, because you don't cry, but this one day, this one time, you will. Because you'll see your dad crying, and it will break your heart, but then you'll remember this card and realize that he's not crying because he's sad I'm not there, he's crying because he's so happy that he is.

I love you to the moon and back.

Mom

**The Twelfth Card **

_(31st December, Christmas #12. It's the New Year's Eve. The three of them are standing in front of the Christmas tree. They are all dressed up. Fitz is wearing a navy tux, which is making his eyes somehow even more blue, more piercing, more translucent. He is holding Rosie, who is in a navy tutu-like dress, with actual fairy lights attached to it. She is smiling ear-to-ear. Grinning. She loves the installation that is her outfit. Liv is standing next to them, her arm wrapped around Fitz, the other one holding Rosie's hand. She's wearing a white dress. It's loose. Like a hospital gown. It's not meant to be. For the first time, the white is making her look fragile, the lightness of the dress contrasting the dark shadows of her collarbones. She looks stunning, but tired. So tired.) _

Merry Christmas, my favorite baby girl. First time back from college! You are truly no longer a baby girl.

You've grown so much. You've turned into this amazing person. This amazing young woman. And it's time to embrace that. Here are just a couple of final things.

College. Make sure you have a lot of friends who are different from you, who like different things. Because friends who like music, they can teach you about it. They can change your mood by playing you the right song. And friends who like to read can tell you about epic loves and epic losses, about great books that will make you feel less lonely and infinitely happier, even if just for a moment. They can show you that heroes are just like you. And have friends who will challenge you, who will inspire you to achieve more than you ever thought possible. Because, one day, without you knowing exactly how or when, you will realize they've become your family. And you will need the extra family, because it's time to let me go.

It's been twelve years. You've been reading these cards for longer than you've known me for. You've been listening about me, for longer than you've been listening to me. And you've been reading about our life, rather than living yours. We've spent twice as much time apart, as we got together. And that sucks. But you need to let me go. That is why this is the last card. Looking back, trying to imagine that you are re-living these moments, trying to remember, memories slipping away, farther and farther with time; that's not what I want for you. These cards were meant to help you move on, help you realize how much you've been loved, help you realize how much we're alike, and help you realize that it's OK to move on, because I'll still be there when you do. I'll be there, but I won't be holding you back.

Make new memories, don't live out the old ones. Have Christmases, birthdays and Thanksgivings and make your own cards. New cards. Meet the love of your life, instead of reading about mine. Have your own kids, and love them as much as I've loved you, because I don't think it's possible for anyone, to ever, love anyone, more than I've loved you. And if you ever need a moment, to reminisce, to re-live, take these to the ice-skating rink, and have a moment of infinity, to feel, to mourn, to imagine. And then you'll skate. And you'll move on, into the new years.

I love you to the moon and back. Forever and always. For as long as you live.

Mom


	13. The In-Between

**Hey guys. This is Liv's penultimate letter, and the last one in this original format. Thanks for all the reviews, they really do inspire me. **

Hi.

The end is making me think about the beginning. People said it would, but I never really understood why. It's not because I want more time, which of course, I do, but it's not that. It's not because I wake up disoriented, unsure of time and place, unsure of what's real, which of course I do, but again, it's not that. It's not because I have regrets either, that we wasted time, so much time, and we wasted love, so much love, but, no, it's not that. It's because I'm trying to make myself believe that this was worth it. That doing this to you, that you going through this, this hell that our life has turned into, that our love somehow made it worth it. Since that night of the first nosebleed I have been trying to convince myself that I've given you more than I'm taking away. I couldn't get the image of the horror on your face from my head. The feeling of your trembling hands against mine. The pain. The look on your face controlled by the pain on mine.

But then I found this note in a box of stuff I was trying to sort out for Rosie, a note you wrote the morning of our wedding.

We went to sleep the night before, and you were holding me, in a safe little cocoon. But when I woke up you were gone. And for a split second I thought you changed your mind and left. The thought terrified me. But what terrified me even more, was how scared the single thought had made me. How dependent I was on you, for happiness. It scared me so much that I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. It didn't seem worth it. The love wasn't worth the constant fear of losing it. And then I saw the note on your pillow, saying, "It is worth it." We never talked about it. Never mentioned it after. Never admitted that we were each other's greatest fears.

You lived to see yours come true. And I truly hope you still think it was worth it. It's OK to sometimes think it wasn't. When it hurts so much that you can't feel anything else, when breathing physically hurts and there doesn't seem to be quite enough Oxygen in the air. And when all you can remember is the blood, the shaking and the fear. The boundless fear. The only thing that makes it better is thinking back to the beginning, and the middle and maybe even the-almost-end.

I've been thinking a lot lately about that great quote by Hemingway, "If two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it." I remember reading it for the very first time and thinking how sad it was. How very sad it was that it was true. Now I realize that Hemingway was wrong. And so was I. it isn't true. At least not entirely. Because love, contrary to all we are taught, love isn't about endings. It's about the middle; the breakfasts and dinners; the PTA meetings; the holidays and the flus; the fights and laughs; the life. Love, love is about the in-between. And we, well, we had the greatest in-between; the greatest life. And a great life _is_ worth it. A great life is worth dying for; but more importantly, a great life is worth living for. And that's what I need you to keep doing.

I love you too,

Livvy


	14. No More Time

Hi.

I am fading away.

I am drifting away. Constantly. The waves of consciousness washing over me, crashing and then retreating. Farther and farther apart. Until the storm is gone. Until the quiet becomes the last scream. And the calm settles.

I seem to want you present, yet I am not. I seem to want you to stay; yet I cannot. I seem to want this to be over; yet I do not.

I am lost. In the dreams. In the past and the future. In tomorrows and yesterdays. In space. Which way is up, or down? Which way is air? But you, you are everywhere. In the dreams, the past and the future, in tomorrows and yesterdays, in the air. I breathe you in, and for a moment I am found.

Hi – it's a "I love you"; and an "I'm sorry"; it's a promise, a prayer, a dream. It's a conversation that never was, that never needed to be. It's the hurt and the healing. It's both time and space. It's constant and infinite. It's us. It used to be us. I do love you and I am sorry, but I'm breaking a promise, ignoring the prayer, shattering the dream. The conversation that will never be. I am not healing and you are hurting. No more time, and we're lost in space. Constant, but no longer infinite.

I Love You. I've never not-loved you. Because the person I was before loving you, the person not loving you, that wasn't me. Not really. I was a sum of selves, but not yet me. Selves with sharp edges, clashing, stabbing me from within, turning my mind into a battleground. But loving you, loving you brought peace. Suddenly I was me. Being in sync with you, let me be in sync with me. Loving you, let me love me. Because, the first time you saw me, I saw myself too. I'm sorry I didn't say it to you more often. Even thought you knew, and even though I knew, it would have never been a wasted – I love You.

I've stopped dreaming. Now there's just dark. I don't dream of Rosie's wedding any more. It's no longer warm. No summer breeze. No heartbeat matching the rhythm of the song. And I'm breathless. So I awake, or do I? Because it's still dark. But then, there's more. Your hand, our fingers intertwined, just like the first time, sending chills down my spine. And I know, I'm alive. At least for a little while longer.

This is the last one. It took me a week to write it. My thoughts are running away from me, hiding in the deep corners of my mind, hiding behind the battle lines. Beyond reach.

So, take a minute. To say goodbye again. This time it will be a little bit easier. A little bit. Because this time, instead of fading away, I am coming back. I am no longer drifting. You found me. In memories, and dreams, in yesterdays and tomorrows, in Rosie and in you. You found me. And every time you lose me, you can find me again in these letters. And I will always say – Hi. And I will always,

Love You Too


	15. The Note

**Thanks for sticking with the story everyone. I'm not sure which chapter killed my soul more, the last one or this one, but then again I just couldn't stop writing. This is a follow-up, a couple of months after Liv died. There will definitely be another follow-up after this, but I'm not sure if I'll just wrap it up after that, or try and come up with a few more. Again, thanks for reading and reviewing - I LOVE your reviews so much! Almost as much as I love the fact that Scandal's back this week, and well as fellow Gladiators you know that was some pretty tough competition! **

Fitz was sitting on the floor. His back against _their_ bed. The letters, _her_ letters scattered around him. He found them in a box at the back of her closet. She knew he would. When he could. When he was ready to look. They smelled like her. He had lost track of time. It was a lifetime. It was the past and the future. Hours that felt like one minute. To him the world stopped the moment he read the first –Hi.

He felt a small hand on his shoulder and looked up. Rosie was standing next to him, towering above him, worried, her mother's daughter. It was time for breakfast. The world didn't stop. It kept on going, kept on spinning, like nothing had changed. Mornings still came, and nights replaced the days, like nothing had changed. Babies were born, and people lived and loved, like nothing had changed. And for a moment, between the first – the last – I Love You Too, for a moment he, too, could pretend that nothing had changed. But then the morning came, and it was time for breakfast.

As he got up Rosie picked something up from the floor. "You dropped this daddy."

He looked at the note in his daughter's hand. And for a moment, for a moment longer he could pretend.

It was their wedding day note. The front was his handwriting, and the back was hers; saying the same thing – It _was_ worth it. And he thought, "Yes it was."

And there was an – I Love you Too, scribbled at the bottom. The last one, to last a lifetime.

And then moment was gone. The world went back to spinning, as he walked out of _their _world, into his own. Everything had changed.

He loved her too. He would, for a lifetime.


	16. The Reality

You are everywhere.

You're at home. In the details. In the color-schemes and the way that cushions on the sofa in the living room are arranged. You're in the assortment of the take-out menus and the CD selection. You're in the emptiness of our closet and the void that hasn't quite set.

You're in Rosie. In the way she folds her clothes. In the way her lip trembles when she doesn't want to cry. In the way she doesn't cry. You're in the way she crosses her T's and the way she proclaims she's apolitical. You're in the way she answers the phone with –What? and seems to think that popcorn is a food-group. You're in the way she tries to fix me, because that's the only way she knows how to fix herself.

And most frustrating of all… You're in my mind. All. The. Time. I wake up in the morning and there is a brief second, before my hand touches the cold emptiness besides me, there is a brief second when I can hear you breathing. And then the reality crashes over me, and so a new day begins. When I read an article I think you might like, I start sending you the link. And then the reality crashes over me. When I'm having an awful day, and I've been having a lot of those lately, I want to call my best friend; when I need advice, when I need encouragement, when I just need a minute, I want to call the love of my life. And then the reality crashes over me. When I walk past our café, I want to get you your muffin and when I'm near your office I want to give you a call. And then the reality crashes over me. When I am walking down the street I watch for you, I wait for you, I still belong to you. And then the reality crashes over me.

There's no one to belong to. You are no longer here. And it crashes again. And again. Crushing me every time.

I picked out a CD that you would have hated the other day. Just to prove to myself that I am moving on. That I can move on. But I couldn't put it on the shelf. And when I finally did, it was in according to the OCD system you devised. I got a new takeout menu, and then got food poisoning. I ordered a new closet. And canceled it. Three times.

I am having an awful day, and I can't talk to my best friend. I need advice, and I need encouragement, because I am lost, and I can't talk to the love of my life. I need a minute, and you're not here to share it. I don't know how to do this and the only person on this planet who could have helped me is gone. And that, that is the reality. Maybe one day, it will set in. But for now, it just keeps crashing.


	17. The Dress, The Yelling and the Letter

**Gladiators, seriously thank YOU so much for the reviews, they make me so happy! I've included a few amazing lines from last night's episode. Credit for those, and basically the inspiration for the whole story goes to the writers - they are true rockstars!**

I tore up one of your letters today, after I yelled at Rosie, for spilling hot chocolate the dress you got her for Christmas. I yelled at her. I've never yelled at her. Not like this. I yelled and she let me, looking at the floor, refusing to look up; refusing to let me see her cry; refusing to let me see I got to her. She is so much like you. So I yelled at her, because I couldn't yell at you.

I yelled at her, because you're not here to tell her to not drink hot chocolate while she's lying on the couch.

I yelled at her, because I messed up and you weren't here to fix it.

I yelled at her, because you're not here to get her another dress.

I yelled at her, because you're not here to get her anything for Christmas ever again.

I yelled at her, because you're not here.

I yelled at her, but really I was yelling at you.

I am so angry with you. For leaving me all alone. For leaving me in charge. For leaving. Disappearing. Disappearing and leaving these letters behind. Like they'd make it better. Like they'd make it OK. For asking me not to be angry. For asking me to stay me. I don't know how to be me, how to be anything without you. The man I am without you is… I am nothing. I am nothing, and you are everything. You were everything. I don't know how to do this. I am failing you and I hate you for it. I _wish_ I hated you for it. But instead, instead I hate myself. Because I am failing you. I am failing and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make the anger go away. It's there when I wake up, it's there when I go to sleep, and it's omnipresent in between. I hate myself, because you would hate me.

So I yelled. And then I tore up the letter. And then, then I spent an hour putting it back together. Trying to get the pieces to fit. Trying to make it whole again. It's put back together now, paper scars breaking up the writing. The pieces one again, but not whole.

I spoke to Rosie. I apologized. She wouldn't look me in the eye, until I gave her the cleaned dress. The stains gone – like they were never there. Then she started to cry.

She cried because I messed up and you weren't here to fix it.

She cried, because you're not here to get her another dress.

She cried, because you're not here to get her anything for Christmas ever again.

She cried, because you're not here.

She cried because of you, but really she was crying because of me too.

So I need to do better. Not because of a letter, or a promise, but because she needs me to and because I need me to. And that's really why you needed me to as well.

So today, I am a little bit less angry than yesterday. It took yelling and crying and a shredded letter, but a little bit of anger is gone. And I hate myself a little bit less, because I know you would love me a little bit more. And I guess that's progress. I guess that's moving on.

Except it's 3am and I can't fall asleep, because I don't hear you breathing next me. And because I know that tomorrow I will wake up, and after a brief second of ignorant bliss the reality will crash again.


	18. The Stories

**I just scribbled this, and it's 1am in the UK, so my mind is a bit mushy. I just wanted to cheer myself (and well you) up after the last chapter, so this one is a little bit more fluff, and hopefully not as much heartbreak. Mostly, because the next couple might be quite sad. Thanks again for the reviews, you are such an inspiration! **

Rosie started to forget things about you, which really freaked her out, so we have a new bedtime tradition. She asks me a question before going to bed and then the next evening I tell her a bedtime story answering the question. About us. Real-life fairytales.

She started off easy, asking about the little things, details. She now knows you liked espresso with no sugar; that it took you exactly 35 minutes to get ready in the morning; that you didn't have favorite bands, only favorite songs; that your favorite book was Catcher in the Rye, and that you read it every year the week of your birthday since you were 13. She also knows that she scrunches her nose in the same way that you used to, and that you loved popcorn almost as much as she does. She started sleeping in my Navy t-shirt. She trips over it regularly, because it's down to her ankles, but she refuses to wear anything else now that she knows it was your favorite. She has also decided that she's apolitical.

She asked me about our best and our worst date, so I told her about the Constitution and tried to wiggle my way out of the worst date question by saying that every single date with you was great. She was not buying it. She's so much like you; in more ways than I could have imagined. So, then I told her about the time we went to that sushi place that Karen recommended, and ended up with food poisoning, laying on the bathroom floor, intermittently vomiting the whole night. And as I described it she said, "But that sounds like fun Daddy." And I said, " It was. Because even food poisoning with your Mommy was fun."

So for tomorrow I have to come up with a story of something fun you did, and all my mind keeps wondering to is the State of the Union weekend at Camp David, but I feel like that's not the type of fun Rosie had in mind. I might tell her about the time you went on the bouncy castle during the Campaign because you wanted to cheer Karen up, or the time when you were pregnant and kept distracting Gerry from his homework, because you wanted someone to go get ice cream with you. Or maybe how every time we'd swim in Santa Barbara you'd race me and then do a victory dance in the pool, while singing _I'm Walking on Sunshine_. Or I could tell her about how you used to have dance parties with her, and tea parties with her and her dolls. I might just tell her that when you entered the room, there was just more light in it, and people would smile more, and when you laughed it made others laugh, it made her laugh –your presence, your smile, your laugh, they were infectious. But I think if I said that, she'd probably look at me and say, "No fair. I want a real story Daddy." And then I'll tell her a real-life fairytale. The one in which the prince and the princess loved each other so much that just being together was enough; that laughing together was magic; that time together was the happiest ending and a date that ended in food poisoning made prince ask the princess to marry him. Because when you find someone who can make laying on the bathroom floor, intermittently vomiting fun – you never let them go. Even after they're gone.


	19. The Catcher in the Rye

**A/N: The quote I refer to in this chapter is: "Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be." J. D. Salinger. **

Rosie turned seven today.

They decorated their own cupcakes, but the dress survived. I got them neon pink, glittery, plastic aprons to wear on top of their dresses. You should have seen Tom and me walking out of Target with thirty neon pink, glittery plastic aprons. It was like a scene from a movie. It should have been you and me. It was meant to be you and me. It was meant to be us. Because Tom didn't dare snap a photo of me and you would have. You would have shown it to her one time when she was upset. You would have shown it to her and it would have made her smile, it would have made her smile and that would have made us smile. You had a way of making us smile. I miss that. I could have used having that around today. I miss you. I could have used having you around today.

As for the gift, I gave her your copy of The Cather in the Rye. It wasn't an exuberant gift, but to her it was priceless. And it is. Because it's the one you've had since you were thirteen. The spine worn out, broken from years of use; pages with your favorite parts folded, little triangles marking the passages of brilliance. A single note on the page with – "I'd just be the catcher in the rye" – saying: _That's what I will be_. And you were. Saving everyone around you from falling over a cliff we didn't even know was there. Saving us and bringing us back. Fixing us. Teaching us how to fix ourselves. And now, now I can see the edge of the cliff for the first time. I see the abyss, the darkness, the emptiness and I turn my back to it. Because that's what you do when you're the catcher. You face the light, and life and you save and you fix. Because seeing the edge, feeling it, makes you realize how important it is to never let anyone fall over it. She wants to read it. And at first I thought she might be too young to understand, but today I realized that if anyone can understand the premature loss of childhood, loss of innocence, loss, it's her. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

Rosie didn't turn seven today. She'll never turn seven. She went from six, to wise; from a child to a grown-up; from knowing love, to knowing loss, in one second. You were there and then you were gone, and so was her childhood. She's still a little girl, our little girl, watching A Little Princess upstairs, but she's also not. Because she knows, at the age of seven that sometimes little girls don't find their dads. That sometimes no matter how hard you look a person is gone and no matter how hard you try the only place you can find them is within you. Because she knows that there's a cliff, and she's seen over it. So no, she didn't turn seven today. But maybe next year, maybe next year, she can turn eight. If I do my job right, if I catch her enough times, maybe she'll start running again, and then playing the childhood game, and then maybe she'll forget about the cliff. Maybe I can make her forget about the edge, the abyss, the darkness and the emptiness. And then, maybe, with time, she'll just go back to being another kid in the rye.


	20. The First Christmas

**I hope you'll like this one. It might be one of my favorites, although writing it crushed my soul a little bit. Thanks again for all the follows/favs/reviews. I genuinely LOVE, LOVE, LOVE reading them :)**

He is sitting on the floor, his back against the couch. A glass of scotch in his hand, the bottle not far away. Flashes of colorful lights reflected on the glossy surface of the card he's holding. They look so happy. So very happy. He remembers that day. Not like a distant memory, in vignettes, captions, re-told stories. He remembers it clearly, perfectly. The details. Her smile and how it had a way of making him forget the inevitable. The touches. Light. Skin brushing against skin. Quickly. Reassuringly. Just to let him know she was still there. The way her lip would tremble when she didn't think he was looking, and how she wore that oversized sweater to mask the fact that she was disappearing. He remembers her voice. Playful. Alive. So alive. And her scent. Subtle, perfume, barely there, but to him – intoxicating, indispensible, like air. He remembers everything. Clearly. Perfectly. Because that's all that's left. Memories.

He pours himself another glass. Ice long gone, no soothing, clinking sound. He's been sitting there for hours. Staring at the card. Staring at her. A pen resting in his shirt pocket, after being picked up and put back a dozen of times; each time hovering above the soft cardboard.

It was meant to be easy enough. Take _her_ card. Take _their_ present. The one they picked up last year around this time. _Together_. Attach _her_ card. Add_ their_ card. And put it under the tree. But there was nothing easy about it. As soon as he saw the cards, a wave crashed over him. A wave of sadness, of grief, of emptiness. Of loss. Of missing her so much that it hurt. A new wave had hit, and he was drowning. Drowning in scotch, because he could no longer drown in pain.

He closes his eyes. He remembers their first Christmas together. Really together. It was the year he left the White House. They were in Santa Barbara. He woke up early. The sun barely above the horizon, light faintly creeping through the window. She was asleep. Smiling. Even in semi-darkness he could tell she was smiling. He could tell even if he couldn't see. She was happy. And so she was smiling, even when she was asleep, even in her dreams. He watched her sleep for a while. Watched her breathe. Her chest rising, rhythmically, easily. So very easily. She stirred and crunched up her nose, just like she did every morning before waking up. And he knew – he could watch her do it every morning for the rest of his life and it would be enough, it would be perfect, it would be an everlasting Christmas.

He puts down the empty glass. He takes the pen out of his shirt pocket. It hovers above the soft cardboard one more time, and then, finally he relents. She was wrong. He can't pretend. Not for a moment, not even for a minute. He is alone.

Signing it feels like death. Like finality, like end. Like a goodbye. Like a long-overdue wakeup from the everlasting Christmas.

He puts the scotch away; the glass in the kitchen, the presents under the Christmas tree. And he walks to an empty bed, but he will not sleep tonight. No, he will not sleep. Because he knows that he cannot survive waking up on Christmas morning without her breathing next to him.


	21. Seven-hundred-twenty-eight

It's been two years today. Two years. Seven-hundred-twenty-eight days.

The thing about measuring time is, it's such a human thing to do. We are the only species that does it. We measure hours; we count days; we group them. We arrange them to give them significance; to give them meaning, And I've realized over the past seven-hundred-twenty-eight days that time is meaningless.

I've missed you every day over the past two years. Some more than others, but every single day. Missing you wasn't divided up in chunks of time; in manageable, comprehensible units. It wasn't manageable and it wasn't comprehensible. Time was meaningless.

I've missed waking up next to you; and I've missed raising Rosie with you; and I've missed watching movies with you, and using you to cheat on the crossword puzzle. I missed our minutes. I missed having a minute to just look at you, breathe with you and be with you. Because the minutes, they were never about time, they were about being. I've missed the moments, not the minutes. So time, time was meaningless.

And sure, there were occasions, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays – there were marked out days when I was meant to miss you more, when I was schedule to miss you more. But the thing about this, the thing about missing you is, in addition to being unmanageable and incomprehensible, it's also unpredictable. I miss you _every _time I read a book I like, not just around your birthday. And I miss you _every_ time I see a couple sitting in our spot, in our restaurant, not just around our anniversaries. And I miss you when we decorate the Christmas tree, and when I'm trying to wrap the gifts, not just when I wake up alone on Christmas mornings. I miss you at recitals, and for midnight homework panics, for arguments over where to spend the summer and arguments over what to bring. I miss you in my life, in the everyday, in the mundane. So the only unit of time that could apply, that does apply is a lifetime. Otherwise, time is meaningless.

Everyone thinks I should be moving on. Like it's a choice, a destination. And I don't know how to explain to them that I don't know what to move on to. I've had, we've had the most wonderful life. You were the love of my life. Once in a life-time kind of love. You took my breath away, and you steadied it; you took my sanity away and you kept me sane; you loved me, and you fixed me, and you let me do the same. We could sit in silence for minutes, hours, never noticing the time. You made me lose the track of time.

Measuring time is such a human thing to do, but the thing is, the thing no one seems to understand is, what we had, what we were, it wasn't just human. Because humans, we are who we are because of our mortality, because of our awareness that we can perish. And we always knew, after the first time we locked eyes that what we had, what we were, how we loved, it would never die, and it would never perish. So to us, time was meaningless, and to me – it still is.

Maybe one day I will move one. Maybe one day I will start to measure time. Maybe one day I will need time, to be able to love again. But missing you, loving you, for that time is meaningless.

Because we were immeasurable.


	22. The Dream

**Hey Gladiators. I'm wrapping this story up. There are two more chapters (after this one). The penultimate one will be posted later today, and the last one hopefully by mid-week. The next one is quite happy (well as happy as my chapters get) and the last one will just sort of tie everything together. Thank you for sticking with the story, for reading it and taking the time to review. **

Rosie got married today. And it was like a dream. Your dream.

It was outdoors. It was warm and there was a summer breeze. You were right; I was smiling, I was beaming. But you weren't there. We didn't get older and I didn't get to hold your hand. It's funny, really. No one tells you that the hardest thing about loss, about death, isn't the initial sadness, the shock of searing pain; it's what comes after. After time takes the shock away, after the new-normal settles in, when you start to let yourself be happy again; that's when the hardest part starts. Because that's when you realize that you will never again be happy the same way. You will never again laugh the same way, or smile the same way, or love the same way. Because the happiest moments of your life will also be the saddest. The highs will be the lows, and the laughs will mask the cries.

Today, today was one of the happiest days of my life. And I missed you every second, of every minute, of every hour. Today, I lost you all over again. That's another thing no one tells you. The waves. The pain, the awful pain that makes breathing impossible. That makes living impossible. Then, suddenly there's numbness, bringing in the calm, letting in the air. And just when you think that the numbness is here to stay, that maybe time has helped, that time has healed, another wave hits, and it begins again. The awful truth never quite sinking in. And the periods of numbness get longer, and sometimes you even forget about the pain, but it always comes back. And, when it does, it never hurts any less. The awful truth never quite sinking in. So today, today was one of the happiest days of my life. It was also one of the saddest. Instead of breathing in sync, I just could not breathe.

Today was like a dream. Your dream. The last dream you had. The last dream we had. So I need to let go of our dreams, not because they're shattered, but because they're not. Because I still wake up in the morning dreaming that we can have a future together; dreaming that you'll walk into the room and say –Hi; dreaming of breathing in sync... and it's not letting me breathe.

I will never again be happy the same way. I will never again laugh the same way, or smile the same way, or love the same way. But I will be happy, and laugh, and smile. And instead of sadness I will feel love. And maybe the next wave won't hit.


	23. Hi

I had a baby girl. We named her Livienne. Livvy. She's perfect. Beautiful. Dad says she has your eyes, and I think he's right, because sometimes when I look into them, I feel like I've seen them before, like I've felt this love before. I was so little when you died, I never really got my mom, which was awful and hard, and so scary, but until a few days ago I never really understood how scared you must have been; how hard it must have been for you. Because the idea of leaving her, the idea of not being around – it's too awful to comprehend.

So thank you for the cards. I loved, and I hated reading them – it was like seeing a glimpse of what I couldn't have, but also being reminded of the magic, and grace and love that I did have. They helped me grow up and they helped me stay a child. They helped me become me, but I never realized how much they also let me become like you.

When I found out I was pregnant we were in Santa Barbara, for Thanksgiving. I was feeling ill the whole week and finally braved the pregnancy test, only to crumble to pieces when the little plus sign appeared. It just made me start vomiting more, and after a while dad walked in, the look of worry being replaced by an ever-growing smile. He simply said –Hi, the sacred word he hadn't said in twenty-five years. And then he proceeded to recite your letter, the one from Santa Barbara, the one where you told him about me; like poetry, like a prayer, like the most magnificent story. Word for word, knowing every single punctuation mark, every single breath and hesitation, every single unshed tear that went into writing it. He hasn't seen them since he gave them to me as a wedding present, and yet he remembers every single one. By heart; forever etched in his heart.

You weren't there. Not for this, not for so many other moments. But you also were. In me, but more than anything in him. In the man he was, and still is; in the dad he was, and still is. You were in the stories he told me when I was growing up, in the way he'd fix a problem before I even realized it was there. You were in the way he'd always unconsciously scan a room, looking for you, before realizing you weren't there, you wouldn't be there; and in the way he would smile when I'd answer my phone with - What. You're also in the shadows in his eyes, and in the silence following his laughs. You're in the way he never let me feel like I wasn't enough, and the way he never felt like he was. But he was, he was everything, he was the best dad that could be.

The first time he looked at Livvy I could see the shadows in his eyes disappear, her smile taking the silence away from his laughs. You wrote once that with time the love that we lost will be filled up again. For me, he filled it up years ago, he made me whole. For him, looking into Livvy's eyes, your eyes, I could finally see him letting go of the loss, and letting in life, letting in love. And he greeted it, he greeted her with a simple – Hi.

**Thanks for reading. FYI - Livienne means "vibrant, full of life" - so I thought it was appropriate. One more chapter to go :)**


	24. Waking Up

**Here's the last one. Thank you so much for sticking with the story. It's been my first fic and you guys made it a really enjoyable experience. I hope you'll like this chapter. It has bits from Liv's letters, and the ending is similar to the first letter, just because I'm a sucker for symmetry :)**

**Also, a few people asked: I do have another story (which I started a few days ago, it's called The Way Back, so if you're interested check it out). **

**Thanks again**.

* * *

It's Christmas morning.

He wakes up early. The sun barely above the horizon, light faintly creeping through the window. The little girl is asleep. He watches her breathe for a while. Her chest rising, rhythmically, easily. So very easily. She stirs and crunches up her nose, just like she does every morning before waking up. She is so much like Liv. And that thought fills him with joy, not sadness; with love not grief. She would have loved her, adored her and there is something so magical in that. There is beauty in the way life goes on; in the way it makes people go on, too. Not just go on, but live on. For, he, he is living.

The little girl awakes. Her sleepy eyes sparkling behind the messy curls. He tickles her and she laughs, her laughter bouncing off the walls until it's everywhere, so present, so overwhelming, that the only thing to do is to give into it. And he does. And it's perfect.

It's a great Christmas. He gets a book that Liv would have loved, and he smiles – the smile reaching his eyes. They watch the wedding video. And fathers dance with their daughters. It's no longer about re-living the past, it's about living the present; it's about the music, and the way they hold them, the way they love them, the way they waltz. He is no longer stuck in time, the world is no longer spinning fast; in that moment, it's just right. He is no longer comparing the reality to the archive of memories, to the perfection of the past, to the life that never was; no, because there and then is enough, it's everything. He still thinks of her, of course he does, all the time, forever in his mind, but it's no longer about what he's lost, it's about what _they_'ve got. Because she's still there, everywhere, in everything, in them and in him.

The two of them are out on the porch. He is holding her, showing her the moon, telling her she could be an astronaut when she grows up. She could reach the moon. She is just looking at him, taking in what he's saying. And then he tells her it doesn't matter if she'll become an astronaut, because he'll always love her to the moon and back anyway. And then he starts twirling around, with her in his arms, singing Moon River. And Rosie laughs from the doorway. And Livvy smiles, and he smiles back at her. Beaming.

He goes to bed that night, not dreading waking up. And as he falls asleep he thinks of her letters. And he understands – they were never about helping him hold on to her, they were about helping him hold on to him, helping him hold on. Because she had loved him too.


End file.
